


An Englishman's Home

by tilda



Series: An Englishman's Travels [3]
Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 15:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tilda/pseuds/tilda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘I went to New York, Gav.’<br/>‘Woah.’ Gav looks up from drawing tobacco down the centre of the Rizla. He presses both sides together, rolling the cigarette into shape between his pursed fingers. He always took his time. ‘Was it the pictures? Did you find out who it was bought them?’<br/>‘Yeah.’<br/>‘Was it him?’ Gav puts the cigarette in his mouth.<br/>‘Yeah.’<br/>‘Fuck,’ Gav says muffled, as he lights the fag. ‘You found him. You found the fucker.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Englishman's Home

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little outrageous to call this tiny thing part of a series, but it is. It's from Nick's point-of-view, after the reunion with Harry in _An Englishman in New York_.

Harry didn’t hear him at first. The light was low, the chandelier lit, casting a dappled glow over the apartment, over Harry, sitting at the far end of the table. He was absorbed in a book, the fingers of one hand resting lightly on the base of a half-drunk glass of wine. He turned a page. He was the stillest Nick had ever seen him, sitting in this patched-together apartment, surrounded by found things and made things and gifts, looking at home. Nick had never seen him look genuinely at home anywhere. Nick was proud and sad. He stood at the screen with his shirt wrapped round him, wearing some other man’s pyjamas, looking at Harry for the longest time and feeling like there was a solid sheet of glass between them.

‘Hey,’ he said after a while just to prove there wasn’t.

When Harry looked up and Nick went over he didn’t know how it would be. Nick wasn’t sure what had changed. He kept it light, standing a decent distance from Harry’s shoulder, asking him what he was reading, until Harry nudged up towards him. It was the same, Nick thought, settling in Harry’s lap, it was the same as it ever was. Harry might not need him anymore, but they could have this, at least for a while. 

~

The light was fading from dark to light blue. Nick stood in front of the table, the portfolio of drawings open where they’d left them when they crumpled to the floor, hands on each other. He stared at the last one, the only one visible, Gav’s sketch of them together, and itched to take it again, shove it under his shirt like he had from Gav’s studio. After a couple of minutes, he turned away empty-handed. He made his way over to the lift and opened it as quietly as possible. The drawing wasn’t his anymore. He’d told Harry it belonged to him now. It was time to leave.

He walked back to his hotel, the sky lightening as he went, the streets gradually filling with people. The wind mugged him at the corners, pulling at his hair, buffeting his cheeks. It blew through his thin shirt however much he hunched into his coat, and he imagined it blowing away the marks made by Harry’s fingers, teeth and lips. By the time he was pushing open the heavy door to his hotel he could imagine that Harry had been completely erased from his skin. Whatever was left was washed away by the hotel shower and then he was in the cab to the airport. He arrived way too early at JFK, but he couldn’t stay any longer. He’d had it with this city.

~

Karl’s in bed when he gets in. Nick sucks him off when he’s barely awake, two fingers in his arse, shocking the orgasm out of him. Nick can taste him at the back of his throat when he falls asleep.

‘What was that?’

Karl’s balancing a cup of tea on his knee in bed the next morning. Nick shrugs as he pulls his jeans on. 

‘Felt like it. Missed you. You know.’

‘Ha. Maybe you should go away more often.’

Nick smiles and blows a breath of a laugh through his nose.

He doesn’t leave Karl alone after that. Nudging into his lap when they’re watching telly, tipping him back over the sofa when he gets in from work, dragging him into the gents when they’re out. It’s like their early days all over again. But then Nick turns up at Karl’s uni, quietly shutting his office door and raising a finger to his lips when Karl says ‘What the hell, Grimmy? I can’t, I’ve got to teach in ten... _mmmf_ ,’ and Karl says ‘ _No_ , Nick,’ and pushes Nick away. They row that night. Karl doesn’t know what’s got into Nick. Did something happen in New York? They’re not kids anymore. Nick’s ears burn from the mention of New York, he’s furious and he doesn’t know why and he says Karl’s no fun anymore a little more savagely than usual and Karl sleeps in the spare room. He’s punishing Nick, he just can’t know how badly, how Nick lies torturously awake trying to keep thoughts of Harry away. 

He doesn’t succeed. He ends up giving in and has an orgasm with his brain flooded with thoughts of Harry, the first time he’s let himself since New York. He usually wanks silently – no-one to hear you after all – but is surprised by a strange whimper when he comes.

~

He needs to talk to someone or he’s going to lose his mind. It’s no accident that he chooses Gav, he’s not fooling himself that badly. Gav swings the door of his studio wide with a ‘Grimmy!’ and a bear hug. 

‘Where’ve you been, man?’ Gav cleans his hands on a rag and goes to put the kettle on. ‘You disappeared on me.’ 

‘I know,’ Nick says sheepishly. ‘Sorry.’

He settles himself on a high stool at the big table in the middle. Despite the grey day the studio is flooded with light from the wall of windows down one side. It’s an ex-industrial building like Harry’s, but it’s lower ceilinged and generally a lot less glam. It’s always reminded Nick of the tech rooms at his old secondary school. 

Gavin places a mug in front of him and takes his own over to his easel. He perches on the edge of his stool producing a pouch of tobacco from somewhere. ‘Sup?’ he says.

‘I went to New York.’

‘Woah.’ Gav looks up from drawing tobacco down the centre of the Rizla. He presses both sides together, rolling the cigarette into shape between his pursed fingers. ‘Was it the pictures? Did you find out who it was bought them?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Was it him?’ He puts the cigarette in his mouth.

‘Yeah.’

‘Fuck,’ Gav says muffled, as he lights the fag. ‘You found him. You found the fucker.’

Nick nods. 

‘And from the way you’re looking, all pale and sad and un-Grimmy-like, I’m guessing you hooked up with him. Or didnae. One of the two.’

‘The first one.’

‘Mate.’ Gav makes to get up.

‘Don’t,’ Nick says, looking up sharply. ‘I’m only just holding it together as it is.’ Gav sinks quietly back into his seat.

‘What the fuck happened, Grimmy? Did you fall out?’

Nick shakes his head slowly. ‘I wish we had.’

Gav doesn’t say anything for a minute then he goes over to the corner of the studio, puts his cigarette in his mouth and fishes out a bottle and two glasses, and comes over to settle himself opposite Nick. He pours them out a shot each.

‘Oh, hello Gavin Macrae,’ Nick says, forcing a jokey tone past the tightness in his throat. ‘Are you by any chance Scottish?’

Gav just pushes the glass towards Nick and Nick takes it, looking down into the liquid. A tendril of alcohol vapour reaches his nose. It’s really nice whiskey. Of course it is. He takes a gulp and feels the burn of it as it goes down. 

‘How’s he doing?’

The alcohol has melted the lump in his throat enough for him to talk. ‘Really well. Amazing, actually. You should see where he lives.’

And he tells Gavin about Harry’s apartment, about his photography, about the dark room, about seeing Gavin’s drawings there, about what happened between them, and Gavin listens, and Nick knows he came here because talking to someone who knew Harry and knew how Nick felt about him is the nearest he can get to having Harry in the room. 

Between them, he and Gavin conjure up a ghost, a ghost Nick can almost touch. 

‘And did you go back?’ Gavin asks when Nick tells him about Harry’s his question – his plea, really – in the morning.

‘Yeah I went back. Fucking idiot that I am. I should have ignored him. Broken my promise. I don’t know what I was doing.’

‘What difference would that have made?’

Nick sighs heavily. ‘I don't know. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone at all. I knew I was asking for trouble.’

‘Well, but you did go. Can’t change that. Are you sure it’s as much of a dead end as you think?’

‘What do you mean?’

Gav shrugs. ‘You and Harry. Is it impossible?’

Nick looks at Gavin. Hope - terrible and treacherous - floods through him. He tries to keep his head. ‘How can it be anything else? Three thousand miles. My job. Karl.’

‘Yeah. How’s it going with Karl?’

Nick looks into the last sip of his whiskey and gives it a swirl. He shrugs. ‘Fine.’

‘Liar.’

‘What the fuck would you know?’

‘I can see your fucking face. Did you tell him about Harry?’

‘Er, no? Why would I do that?’

‘“We’ve agreed to be completely open and honest with each other. It’s _amazing_ Gav.”’

Nick lets out a flappy sigh and remembers his words from six months ago. Naive, stupid Nick from six months ago. Before Gav had told him about the drawings, before New York.

‘You’re keeping this from him. You want to keep this to yourself. Why?’

Nick ducks down, out of the way of Gav’s penetrating gaze. ‘Why are you saying this?’ His voice is plaintive and small.

‘I don’t know.’ Gav’s tone has gentled. There’s a silence. ‘Because I want you to be happy. Because... ok, confession time, I don’t buy you and Karl.’

‘What do you mean?’

Gavin shrugs. ‘Sorry man, but I don’t. I always got the feeling you’re with him because you think he’s good for you. You know, like when you go to the gym, or start eating the latest trendy fruit. It never lasts. Hearing you talk about Harry a minute ago. Watching you. Mate.’ Gavin takes a contemplative drag of his cigarette and squints at Nick through the smoke. ‘You fucking light up inside, Nick.’

Gav used to tell him this years ago and Nick always made a bad a job of hiding how much he loved hearing it. ‘Don’t,’ he says for the second time that afternoon, but his voice is a rusty whisper with no conviction. As he deserves, Gavin ignores him.

‘It was bad timing when you first met, aye. But anyone could tell you were gone on each other. And it worked between you. I don’t mean... not Harry’s closet, and the touring, obviously, but you know, your...’ Gavin brings both his hands together, his fingers making a jerky bursting motion, and he makes a _bzzkrrrsschkk_ noise that sounds like a live electric cable snapping. ‘You know.’

‘Yeah.’ Nick knows. 

‘And now you might have a chance.’

Gav’s holding this out out to him, making it sound so easy, but to Nick, everything in the way seems insurmountable.

‘How?’

‘Ok. Put it this way. How much do you want it?’

 _More than anything_ , Nick thinks without hesitation. _I want it more than anything._ More than Karl. More than Radio 1? Maybe.

‘I just don’t see how I could fit into his life. He doesn’t need me.’

‘He might not need you, but it sounds like he fuckin’ wants you. Isn’t that enough? It’s his lookout where you fit into his life. You just worry about yours.’

He sloshes them out a couple more drams and by the time Nick leaves he’s feeling warm and buzzy and optimistic. Gavin kisses him long on the mouth at the door, his thumb along Nick’s jaw, reminding him of a time when he might have stayed, might have given way under Gavin, clung to him as consolation. But those days are gone now, and Gav gives him a little shove over the threshold.


End file.
